


Oblivion

by SilverButterfly111



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, Kevin is Inhuman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverButterfly111/pseuds/SilverButterfly111
Summary: The devil goes by many names.The Cards never lie.This was inspired by the fantastic Resurrection Lily series written by Dangersocks and Maiden_of_the_Moon.





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maiden_of_the_Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/gifts), [Dangersocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/gifts).



> I'm not going to do everything justice but I hope you like it anyway.

“Honestly between the two of you you would have to forgive sensible  people the assumption that your professions lay with the circus instead of highborn English gentry.”

This comment slips from Carlos’ vocal chords though it's not meant to be taken into a harsh light and is more to the tune of exasperated affection for the two men who occupy the table other than himself. Neither man takes the jab with any form of seriousness and each hardly falters in their respective tasks of trying to starve off boredom.

 Earl picks up on the game of teasing though Carlos can't say that this fact is particularly surprising for a man like Earl Harlan who seems to be at times more a petulant child who woke up one day and was expected to act like an adult in the judgmental eyes of society. Loathe to let go of his youth that way most children often are once they realize how much of a sham adulthood can truly be. The fact that his face retains more youth than is normal for a man of his age doesn't help the illusion especially when his lips are curved into the between of a smile and a smirk. Still balancing the silver spoon on the ridge of a single finger the redhead casts something akin to a conspiring glance towards Cecil as the other man scoffs in a poor attempt to hide outright laugher. “If you were so concerned about sensible Dear Carlos you would have run out of my door ages ago. Honestly it is an impressive miracle that between the two of _you_ I'm still breathing and not turning in my grave six feet under.”

 The self-taught mystic merges the two halves of his trademark Tarot deck with a pointed and meaningful snap as his gray eyes somehow manage to hold both of his companions gazes at once.

   Earl waves away the context of the jab with a smile wide enough to dimple his cheeks even as he shakes his head. “Pity the ignorant fool who meets Mr Palmer and thinks him- or anyone else in his company for that matter to be entirely normal.”

 “Pity me indeed.” Cecil drawls, fingers curling around the edges of the card deck as he taps it against the thick wooden table and then lays it to rest face down with all the grace of a mother putting a child to sleep.

“If I'm lacking in sense I find it reasonable to blame the both of you. You practically haunt my threshold and my table. I'm quite certain that I've entirely made you up and people stare at me as I speak to empty air in fits of madness.”

Earl turns back to balancing the silver spoon as the utensil tilts precisely to one side threatening to fall and strike the table with a clatter in the moment of inattentiveness. “Perhaps they would stare at you if you ever deemed to go past your garden fence.”

“I go outside plenty.” Cecil protests;  unimpressed but perhaps a bit insulted. The kaleidoscope of his eyes flicker in the candlelight looking past its protective halo of light and warmth through the shadows of the room to the rain specks on the glass window pane to reflect the somber swath of silver and black clouds invading the sky outside.

 “No one in any sort of mind would want to be out there now for sure.” Carlos muttered suppressing a shiver against an imagined gust of cold wind.

 “Not unless you're a fool.” Cecil agreed, fingers pinching around the corner of a card in the deck and sending its shadow dancing across the walls as it sails with a barely discernible flutter to land balanced face up across Earl's spoon. Startled by the sudden appearance of the tarot piece so close to his face Earl blinks and loses his grip on the spoon sending it to the table with the predicted clatter. The Scoutmaster doesn't flinch but doesn't feel the need to return the card to an upright position. Everyone in the room knows full well what's depicted on the face.

Earl instead shoots an indignant look toward Cecil and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “I'm not the fool anymore I've learned.”

 “Have you now?” The Marquis wonders out loud sounding entirely unconvinced and continues without awaiting a response. “Alright a new card then because while you no longer think yourself a Fool that doesn't mean you are no longer an Elf.”

 Earl rolls his eyes once more and turns an annoyed and beseeching expression to Carlos instead. The nickname is one he's heard quite often on Cecil's tongue and the first he'd heard it he thought it a genuine slip of the tongue but then became perplexed when Earl had not deemed it necessary to correct the man- and still never does- outside of eyes rolling heavenward and subdued scowls of annoyance. Carlos has inquired to Cecil about its origin but hasn't gotten much outside of cryptic muttering about mulberry bushes and cakes of all things. Earl for his part mutters half formed threats against the Marquis which he would never carry out. Thus pointing Carlos back to where he started; and so he sits in his confusion any time that the word is brought up in this or similar contexts; like a man who hears a joke and knows it should be humorous but failing to see exactly why.

“You would render your precious cards inaccurate.” The statement comes off as much more a question than Carlos intended but most everything is a question where his lover is concerned and despite the fact that their history is growing, stretching out before and behind them like an impossibly long tendril of ivy. It stands that while Carlos gains understanding of Cecil's habits and mannerisms he will likely never be rid of his curiosity where Cecil is concerned, a fact that irks him to some extent- some days more than others- but he's finding increasing easier to live with day by day.

 Cecil for his part drops the pretense of false annoyance and turns his thoughtful expression on Carlos. Lips quirking in the beginnings of a small and somewhat secretive smile, eyes flickering with warmth in the candlelight, turning hazel.

“Carlos. The cards are always accurate.” Cecil's gentle whisper carries across the room and the table ringing clear despite the softness of it. The way only Cecil's voice seems capable of doing. Though the tone is gentle and dare Carlos say amused the room seems to go a degree or two colder as Carlos senses more than hears the darker foreboding underneath the teasing chide. The sudden, subtle sideways shift in mood rapidly becomes less so and Carlos more than half expects a rumbling crash of thunder or the throaty scream of a crow to further drive the point and send them all jumping a good foot out of their chairs.

He mentally chides himself for being ridiculous as the tense moment dissipates much like the threads of smoke from the trio of candles within the candelabra the table.  Nonetheless Cecil's left hand still rests protectively over the ornate backs of cards. The ridge of his spine a tell of a man who is wary of being so idle. Unease now placed within restless minds turns the stillness of the air to sudden ripples reminiscent of the water pooling in puddles on the cobblestones walkways outside. Distorting reflections of boredom to better resemble paranoia.

 Nothing important has happened for days and while that may very well be a blessing to London as a whole it simply doesn't sit well with any of the inhabitants and frequent haunters of the Night Vale manor. Carlos is quite sure that he's gone mentally cross-eyed trying to piece together a logical reason for the paranormality of London to have gone so quiet.

Either they are done with everything that is to be done. Which Carlos doesn't believe in the slightest sense of the word but the alternative seems far more likely and infinitely unpleasant.

Either there is nothing, or there is _something_ that is biding its time, lurking, waiting, watching. Another shiver rakes it's way down Carlos’ spine so intense that he feels gooseflesh pricking along his arms and casts a cautionary glance at the window to make sure it's shut.

It is.

He shakes his head irritated at his own lack of focus and he rubs his fingers in circular motions along his temples trying to recall exactly what hour it is without the aid of a clock. His next exhaled breath makes it past his lips in a sigh. One part exhaustion mostly frustration.

...Speaking of clocks he's now extremely aware of the steady mechanical ticking from the grandfather clock in the foyer. The rhythm of the huge timepiece encased in a prison of smudged glass and intricately carved wood seems hypnotic enough to lull him to sleep. The time always seems to be more than a little off but then again time is a human construct. It isn't really real and yes the clock is wrong more often than not and thus could be argued rather soundly as being useless but it still ticks, still works in a sense and Carlos rather likes that clock in particular and...oh honestly there goes his train of thought again. Rambling on about timepieces of all things really he must have _something_ better to do with his time- real or not! Goodness this really is a loop isn't it?

 The Scientist lets out another nearly inaudible sigh that stirs the candle flames and sends the shadows shifting across the walls.

He blinks once, twice, thrice coffee irises fixated on the lithe black shapes that settle once more to hold the room in an inky embrace.

 A shadow flickers, shifts. Carlos’ eyes widen as his brows knit together in confusion. He opens his mouth, to bring attention to the optical illusion. To voice the entirely real possibility of insanity brought on by the assumed late hour, boredom or sleep deprivation perhaps a concoction of all three when a disembodied voice makes itself know sending all three gentlemen jolting upright in their chairs with wary glances round the fairly empty room.

“My, my, you're certainly jumpy aren't you?” the disembodied lilt inquired.

It's quite an effort to suppress a groan as the shadows detach themselves from the walls to drift like wisps of smoke. Hovering over the table; simple ebony tendrils for a moment more before they morph to reveal pointed white teeth stretched wide and speckled with blood and a pair of gleaming hazel eyes. Brown speckled with yellow and amber bringing to mind sunlight on sand even though Carlos can never claim to have seen a desert before. He's heard it described. The grin and the gleaming eyes, the whites themselves tinted yellow, float in the air still wreathed in smoke in a grotesque parody of the Cheshire cat.

     This character being no less cryptic and off his rocker if not more so.

Cecil is naturally the first to recover from his shock with a scoff of blatant disgust as the man scowls with folded arms at the fiend who's manifested at his table. “I suppose this is what I get for wishing something would happen.”

 “Well yes, careful what you wish for.” The voice replies blasé, Carlos isn't sure how it's possible for smoke to shrug but it manages the feat. Somehow. How? Not that any of that matters.

 What matters is there is now a demon in the midst of manifesting in the dining room. Carlos wished that he could claim to be surprised with the circumstance but it's become- regrettably- commonplace.

 Regardless, Carlos isn't sure what to make of Kevin's sudden appearance not that he expects demons to announce themselves per se. The Scientist exhales through his nose not sure if the reaction is born of irritation or some odd bit of amusement to find himself in sort this sort of situation again... whatever sort of situation this is.

 He can't help but cast a glance at Cecil. Logic being founded in the fact that the eccentric man was the reason for the incubus’ first appearance.  Cecil evidently seems to read his thoughts and meets Carlos’ eyes with an odd expression toeing the line between pleading and annoyance. As if the demon’s very existence affonates him. Carlos supposed that this opinion isn't helped by the fact that the demon's features still mirror Cecil's own. Something that is most certainly intentional and clearly irks Cecil to no end. Kevin seems much too amused for the remainder of this encounter to go well.

 Carlos resigns himself to this and any consequences that result although he does spare the salt shaker more than a passing glance. To his knowledge salt has no effect on dispelling or harming Kevin's particular ilk but there's no reason he couldn't test this knowledge for himself. He is after all first and foremost a man who values accuracy when it comes to such things. Anything to rid them of both this unholy being as well as the silence it has brought with it that is rapidly approaching awkward and being to mind certain things that while not entirely unpleasant are not in any way helpful…

 “You were not summoned.” Cecil quipped bluntly. Both saving them from the precipice of unbearable silence and damning them to equally if not more unbearable conversation. Laughter blubbed from the demon's throat, clear and bright as church bells. Comparisons such as this have no doubt already sealed Carlos’ place in Hell but he could hardly be at fault when it held such unsettling truth.

“No, I was not summoned.” Kevin agreed with all the condescending patience of a teacher speaking to a particularly dense pupil. “I was about, thought I'd pop in the weather isn't very pleasant today. I do hate rain.”

 “As much as I would feel inclined to discuss the weather with an  acquaintance. I much rather prefer that you get to the point.” Earl cuts in calm and biting impatience of winter chill.

Amber eyes fixate on the redhead Scout with unabashed curiosity and nearly as much amusement.

“You, I don't think I know; we could certainly become acquainted if you wish.”

 Rather a poor choice of words in this particular circumstance though Earl could be forgiven that seeing as how devils enjoy twisting words into whatever light they can manage.

“Not in any sense of the word.” Earl drawls in a montone so flat as to befit the dead.

  While the Cheshire grin never leaves the flickering mirage parodying a human face. The bright laugh bubbling past the demon’s lips holds undercurrents that reveal the making of frustration.

“You lot really are no fun at all.”

“And yet, you keep wandering in.” Cecil mutters. Under his breath yes, but not at all quietly. “I will repeat myself though I doubt it will help my case.” Cecil rests his elbows on the dark oak table and fixes his kaleidoscope eyes upon the bright eyed fiend past the apex of his steepled fingers. “Enlighten me as to how you manage to appear when you were not called upon.”

 Kevin is silent for a moment of eternity as he meets Cecil's gaze and this heavy silence stays until a question decsends to break it.

 “Have you ever wondered as to the nature of triplicate?” The demon muses as though to himself. “Why three? Why Heaven, Hell and Purgatory?”

Cecil blinks. Lips parting to speak but the room remains silent in the wake of Kevin's words. Carlos wonders with a vague sense of alarm if they have all been hexed mute.

 Kevin’s eyes still on Cecil are nearly unreadable as the demon fills the nothingness of silence. “Birth, life and death perhaps?” The image of Kevin's arm nearly dissolves as he attempts a gesture to encompass the room. “Look around you, there are three of you before me now. You cannot tell me any of you are worthless.”

 Earl and Carlos exchange a momentary glance before turning their gazes back to Cecil whom has not so much as blinked.

 “Maybe if I like it to your past, present and future depicted upon your beloved cards?”

 Here is where Cecil blinks. Slowly, eyes stretched wide as if waking from a dream and it's with this comparison to waking that Carlos sees some extent to how tired Cecil truly is.

 “The Devil has many names….” Kevin muses.

   A single Tarot card sits underneath the arch of Cecil's arms. Cecil blinks again, jerking away from the sight of white petals intertwined with red. Bright as candle wax and blood.

     He sees Cecil push the inverted card closer to the center of the table.

Lifts it up the light of a flame. Carlos senses Earl go stiff while he himself can only watch in horrified fascination as Cecil holds the card edge over fire a moment before he seems to regain his senses and let's it float to the table; smoldering but mostly intact. Carlos expects the oak wood to catch fire next but it's gleaming finish is only marred by ash.

Carlos expects to see the ever-present Devil.

Instead he's greeted by the Introverted Sun.

  The air smells not of ash but of oranges. Carlos can taste bitter smoke on his tongue and swallows, gaging. From across the room Cecil stands on his feet and makes it three steps across the room before his eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the floor.

Earl's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Cecil's unconscious form. He opens his mouth to bring forth a shocked exclamation and instead coughs.

The black seeds patter against wood with a sound akin to the raindrops outside. Earl's pupils dilate even further in fear until the meadow-green irises are nearly swallowed by void.

  _Meadow green._ Carlos contemplates through smoke filled haze. He picks up a seed that smells faintly of earth...He's dimly aware of Earl following Cecil to the floor.

  He himself cannot even manage to make it out of his chair before the darkness  begins to descend upon him.

 He contemplates the Devil's many names; Beelzebub, Satan, Lucifer; bearer of light.

 His mind conjures a Cheshire grin and a voice drifts into his ears with the lingering smoke.

 “ _Go to sleep_ …”

_Why are demons always smiling?_

 

___________

 

_from thelanguageofflowers.com_

  _Ivy: Eternal life_

_Orange (mock): Deceit_

_Poppy: Eternal Sleep, Oblivion, Imagination_


End file.
